Just a trivial aside, but within the context of this particular gig, so soon into the celebrated band's first tour behind its widely acclaimed second album, Helplessness Blues (Sub Pop), Pecknold's (pseudo?)-nervously conducted survey was telling all the same.

Here he was, having already impressively wafted through the light instrumental plucking of "The Cascades," followed by the new disc's final cut, "Grown Ocean," and the hugely harmonic Sun Giant track "Drops in the River," trying to engage the audience (those who could hear him, anyway) in endearing but awkward off-the-cuff banter. Almost as if mock-assuring himself that this was indeed his audience -- and that the rapturous, encore-worthy cheers immediately emanating from all corners of the packed ballroom weren't just overly polite gestures.

Kinda strange coming from a dude whose band has consistently sold out shows with ease since before the release of its 2008 self-titled debut. But as he mentioned toward the generous, nearly two-hour show's conclusion, Fleet Foxes "are still getting into the swing of touring again."

So what if the overall showmanship came off a bit apprehensive? Who cares if the group sometimes took long silent pauses between songs to tune and switch instruments, or that Pecknold started and re-started a few finger-picking intros before nailing the right gait?

I'd assume that by the end of Saturday's set -- an enthralling showcase of their nearly unmatched knack for seamless two-, three- and even four-part harmonies and intricate multi-instrumental arrangements, both of which portend great potential for the future of Americana music -- most attendees cared little that the band/fan banter mostly involved a glitter-caked pop-star and scattered wisecracks about the surprisingly "well-mannered" crowd. The music -- when it kept its momentum -- was irresistible, overpowering, trance-inducing. Commanding enough on its own to overshadow any early-tour jitters.

Though a few intrusive voices chattered incessantly above the music, silent respect reigned as Pecknold, his eyes shut tightly in emotionally fueled concentration, strummed and belted out the uplifting melodies of "Battery Kinzie" and "Bedouin Dress," two new songs much enhanced by added player Casey Wescot's dexterous piano lines (tastefully replacing fiddle on the latter's recorded version) and Joshua Tillman's driving drums. His rhythms resonated with the deep-toned raucousness of an advancing marching band, or the timpani-heavy percussion section of a massive military orchestra.

The Helplessness Blues material showed the outfit adding dynamic depth to the transporting atmosphere of its exquisite debut. "Blue Spotted Tail," for example, toward the end of Saturday's show, is wildly adventuresome for a band with such refined pop sensibilities: the song holds true to the folksy-gospel undertones of the debut, but with the aid of sporadic, high-pitched bass clarinet tones from new member (and former Blood Brother) Morgan Henderson, the piece wriggles its way into a distinctly prog-psych-rock climax that echoes the jazz-freak-out portions of Radiohead's "The National Anthem." It's a huge credit to the band's proficiency that these whimsical permutations, while jarring, are so precisely executed -- nearly album-perfect -- during the live show.

The performance achieved its most consistent flow, however, during sections that nixed between-song tune-ups. Just as it does on Fleet Foxes, the dreamily ebbing a capella outro of "White Winter Hymnal" transitioned perfectly into the riveting gallop of "Ragged Wood," a composition of distinctly different yet fully cohesive parts that most closely mirrors the stylistic forays of complex new songs like "The Shrine/An Argument" and the majestic, encore-closing "Helplessness Blues." Similarly -- and showing still more skill by melding old and new arrangements -- the softly strummed chords of "Montezuma," subtly complemented by guitarist Christian Wargo's heavenly yet haunting harmonies, bled flawlessly into the intro of "He Doesn't Know Why," an airy anthem that rivals the best of Mumford & Sons and Arcade Fire's many comparable gems.

Yet, while continuity from song to song kept the audience attentive, the occasional pause also proved valuable time and again. The musicians seemed to regroup after finishing a carefully played version of "Your Protector," by then slowing -- ever so slightly -- the tempo of "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" to produce an arrangement that was completely calming, gripping enough to hush the bustling room. Likewise, the brief break between the main-set closing "Blue Ridge Mountains" and the encore-opening "Silver Dagger" -- a Joan Baez cover played and sung solely by Pecknold -- lent the latter an enchanting quality that might have been lost had it been jammed between some of the band's more symphonic songs.

As has been the case from the moment these guys burst onto the scene, instances like these made it abundantly clear that Pecknold & Co. aren't the sort to incorporate distractions. They don't need props or extravagant lights, nor stage antics that go much beyond swaying or rocking gently to the sultry sounds of their instruments. All that frippery wouldn't be desirable at a Fleet Foxes show. As on record, the magic is in the music -- where it belongs.

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